


A Question of Mortality

by cliodna_bright



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Death, Elves, Gen, Imladris, Loss, Mortality, Rivendell, Twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-01
Updated: 2012-07-01
Packaged: 2017-11-08 23:20:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/448678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cliodna_bright/pseuds/cliodna_bright
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elrond and Glorfindel speak of death and dying, as Elrond looks back on his long history and contemplates the mortality of his brother Elros.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Question of Mortality

Elrond stared into the fire. His mind was filled with a hundred different thoughts, ceaseless thoughts and memories which always crept up on him in the evening. In his hand he held a glass of _miruvor_ that had barely touched his lips. It was his nightly ritual: he poured a glass of wine, seated himself in front of the hearth, and contemplated the worries that burdened him. Sometimes his thoughts strayed into the past, haunting him with _should haves_ and _what ifs_. Other nights he looked to the future. On these nights Elrond was at his happiest, for it was then that he most often imagined his reunion with his lady-wife.

Tonight his thoughts were on the present. Arathorn, son of Arador, Chief of the Dúnedain, was dead, slain by an Orc arrow which had found its mark in his right eye. His young widow and child had left their home and were traveling to Rivendell. They were due to arrive tomorrow, near the noon hour. 

The last chieftain to be raised in Imladris had been Arathorn I, the twelfth in an unbroken line of chieftains. Elrond wondered, as he always did, if the young Aragorn would bear any resemblance to his late brother and closest childhood companion. Elrond and Elros had been inseparable when they were young. They had survived the destruction of their home together; they had been partners in crime, mischief makers raised among the Kinslayers and later the High King Gil-galad and the Noldor. It had not been until after the war that they had grown apart. 

Thinking of Elros made him grip the glass tighter. It was a pain that lingered in his chest like an infection, refusing to lessen its grip with the passing of time. Elrond supposed it was the nature of Elves to feel the anguish of death more strongly than Men. It was unnatural for an Elf to grow old or to die, and his brother had done both. Elrond lifted the wine to his lips and swallowed deeply, feeling the familiar mantel of sadness settling around his shoulders. His eyebrows drew together, shadowing his dark and brooding eyes. In the dying firelight he made a foreboding silhouette. 

He registered the presence of another a moment before the newcomer spoke. It was Glorfindel, his closest friend and confidante. 

"Attempting to drown your sorrows, my friend?" His asked, voice soft and musical as always. 

"Actually, I mean to read my fortune in the dregs," Elrond returned, his voice low and sarcastic. Despite his ton, Elrond welcomed the intrusion. Glorfindel was one of the few Elves in whose company Elrond did not need to wear a mask. 

Glorfindel crossed the threshold and entered; he carried with him a single white candle that outshone the dim firelight and brought a smell of jasmine to the air. He poured himself a glass of wine and took a seat beside his friend. 

"You always did split the cork. Spoils a good vintage, that does. Better to read your fortune in tea," he commented, smelling the drink. Elrond remained silent, instead opting to drain the glass. 

"What is on your mind, Elrond? You are behaving even more churlish than usual," Glorfindel asked, equal parts tongue-in-cheek and concerned. 

"I am concerned over the frost," Elrond returned smoothly. "I'm afraid it will damage the cabbage harvest." 

"Ah, I see. Yes, that would trouble me as well." The corner of Glorfindel's lips turned up. 

Silence fell. The two Elves slowly drank their way through the bottle. Glorfindel waited patiently, knowing his friend well enough to know that he was grappling with his own thoughts and would not speak before he knew exactly what it was he wanted to say. 

Elrond spoke again after Glorfindel uncorked another bottle. "What was it like to die?" 

The golden Elf froze with the neck of the wine bottle poised over his glass. He turned his head slowly to regard the lord of Rivendell with serious eyes. "What is this about, my friend?" 

"Please, humor me." 

Glorfindel set aside the bottle and moved away from Elrond, abandoning his chair in favor of the hearthstone. The warmth of the fire seemed to give him courage, and he began to speak, his eyes never leaving those of his friend. "I do not know if you can understand. I will put it as best I can, but it is like a dream… I do not clearly recall all of it. 

"I knew that I was going to die, even before the Balrog struck his final blow. There was pain, of course, when my body was broken. My spirit lingered, hiding within the shell of my dying body, until the very last beat of my heart. And then there was a freezing, paralyzing cold. The Helcaraxë cannot even compare to the freezing chill. In the beginning, it was nearly welcome, so intense had been the fire of the Balrog. But... I thought that I would shatter into a million icy shards by the end. I still believed I had _form_ , that I must still exist in a physical sense. 

"Then there was pain. Sauron himself could not devise such torture. I realized then that I was without a body, without any protection, naked in the truest sense. This was torture of the mind, a reliving of past sins. I—" He faltered. His long fingers were clenched on the edge of the hearthstone, his knuckles white. He braced himself with a long swallow of _miruvor_ before continuing. 

"After that, there was a finite time in which I felt nothing. There was nothing to hear, or see, or taste or touch. I did not worry, I did not hurt; I did not feel." 

Elrond's face was expressionless. Inside, his heart was rent with guilt for making his dearest friend relive these memories. But, in a tiny corner of his mind reserved for selfish desires, he was rapt. Was this what death had been like for Elros? Pain and suffering followed by nothingness? 

"I cannot place any sort of measure on the wait, but I suspect it was not as long as I imagine. Eventually I became aware of his presence. I was as one blind without my senses, but I knew he was there. There was so much love in his touch… He soothed my battered spirit with such warmth…" Glorfindel's voice trailed off, and Elrond did not press him to continue. He had heard that thing he had most wished to hear. 

"Forgive me, Glorfindel. I should not have asked you to relive that. I only seek to understand…" 

"Be at ease, Peredhil. You cannot hide anything from me," the lord said slowly, with a faint smile. His eyes were tumultuous, and Elrond could not read all of the emotions written upon his face. "You have always sought to understand what unknown circumstance took your brother from this world." 

After a time Glorfindel stood, and Elrond rose with him. They embraced firmly. Elrond thought he saw the candle light glisten on Glorfindel's cheek. When they stepped apart, Glorfindel rested a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Some things cannot be comprehended, Elrond. Elros is at peace. Be content with that." 

Glorfindel took his leave, and Elrond returned to his chair. He remained there, motionless and blank, until the sun began to climb over the horizon and the birds to sing their morning song. 

Perhaps he never would understand the life that Elros had chosen. He could not believe that a Man's soul could be snuffed out with the death of the body. Even Glorfindel, who had returned from Mandos' Halls, could not tell him his brother's fate. It was a puzzle he would not solve in the Outer Lands. 

Elrond got up out of his chair and walked slowly to the balcony. His eyes stared in the direction of Eriador, from where a mother and child toiled through the wild. 

One day, when Arda-Marred was broken and remade, Illúvatar's plan would be revealed. Elros was not lost for ever. He could wait. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

__Miruvor_ – wine _

The 'he' that Glorfindel speaks of is Mandos 

Outer Lands – Middle-earth 


End file.
